


Deadly Wicked Grace

by Laglpal



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Lavallan can't go wolf-hunting with people we already know, Or at least an attempt at Worldbuilding, Tevinter Imperium (Dragon Age), The DA:I Inner Circle will be supporting Lavallan too though, Welcome to Tevinter, Worldbuilding, Yes there will be OCs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 16:00:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20392333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laglpal/pseuds/Laglpal
Summary: When Lavellan dropped the writ in front of the Exalted Council and left, she knew that the Inquisition was not the only thing that was leaving her hand. She abandoned her resources, her power, her title and her influence in that one moment. Lavellan left the Winter Palace with less than what she started with during the Conclave; at least she had two arms back then.And now, six months later, Lavellan still did not have much. The only thing she has now was a dress, a mask, and an invitation to a ball thanks to Dorian. If she is skilled enough, that was all she needed. After all, life is like Wicked Grace played to the death; it does not matter what cards you start with, it is what you do with those cards to seek victory.And hopefully, those are all the cards she needs to take down Solas.





	1. Prologue

She remembered the day she received the Anchor. The day she closed the breach. The day she was made Inquisitor.

It all seemed so long ago now. Gone were the days when she spent all her time running around Thedas closing rifts and saving countless lives while expanding the influence of the Inquisition. That was a time when the Inquisition was actually needed to fight demon armies instead of mediating disputes between Orlais and Fereldan.

Those days were sealed to a close when Lavellan slew Corypheus two years ago. And now, the recent disbandment of the Inquisition served to further cement those days into the pages of history.

The idea of dissolving the group was raised far before the events at the Exalted Council. Her advisors kept whispering into her pointed ears, saying it was time to sheath their swords and go home. Lavellan heard them but did not listen. She did not want to listen; the idea of throwing everything she created during the last three years just to appease to the Chantry seemed incredulous. Especially since this was the same Chantry who called her a blaspheming heretic.

However, that did not change the fact that the Inquisition was crumbling under political pressures from both Orlais and Fereldan; one nation wanted the Inquisition as a subset of their army, the other wanting it to disband entirely. And Leliana’s, or rather, Divine Victoria’s idea of calling an Exalted Council did not help matters. Lavellan’s initial plan was to march straight into the Winter Palace, tell Divine Victoria that the Inquisition was staying right where it was, and advise her to refocus her energy elsewhere. 

Lavellan was prepared to fight for the Inquistion’s right to remain as an independent entity. She was prepared to argue from dawn to dust as to why they cannot disband.

But what she was not prepared for was betrayal.

Iron Bull’s treachery was unexpected. Lavellan didn’t imagine she would have to use her own magic against Bull. It was only in hindsight that Lavellan learned that it was a terrible idea to have him in the party. It was only natural that the sacrifice of the Chargers pushed Iron Bull towards the Ben-Hassrath. Although the Qunari was never over-emotional, Lavellan found it odd that he never mentioned her decision on the Storm Coast. Lavallan tore the Chargers, his only family away from him. In the end, she is the one with Bull’s blood on her hands.

_“Nothing personal, bas.”_

Solas’s betrayal, however, felt like someone ripped her heart out and stomped on it with their boots. The clever bastard was manipulating her all that time, using her and the anchor to fix his mistakes. The worse part was that she fell for it, like a rat seeing a piece of cheese nestled in a trap. Lavellan fell in love with his facade as a lowly, apostate mage with an obsession of the fade. She failed to see who was truly behind that mask: Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf, and the Lord of Trickers himself.

_“I suspect you have questions.”_

Lavellan was no longer blind to what was occurring within the ranks of the Inquisition. Perhaps its disbandment was the best course of action after all. If the Inquisition was now so big that it was near impossible to detect spies and traitors within its ranks, then it was clear its time is done. The Inquisition was not going to threaten the peace it created.

After quelling the Qunari threat, she marched back into the halls of the Exalted Council. Much to the shock of the audience, Lavellan dropped the writ from Divine Justinia on the marbled floors, and said the one thing that not even Divine Victoria expected from the elven Inquisitor.

_“Effective immediately, the Inquisition is disbanded.”_

When Lavellan dropped the writ in front of the Exalted Council and left, she knew that the Inquisition was not the only thing that was leaving her hand. She abandoned her resources, her power, her title and her influence in that one moment. Lavellan left the Winter Palace with less than what she started with during the Conclave; at least she had two arms back then.

And now, six months later Lavellan still did not have much. The only thing she has now was a dress, a mask, and an invitation to a ball thanks to Dorian. If she is skilled enough, that was all she needed. After all, life is like Wicked Grace played to the death; it does not matter what cards you start with, it is what you do with those cards to seek victory.

And hopefully, those are all the cards she needs to take down Solas.


	2. Of Paper Walls & Business Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we run into a familiar face in unfamiliar territory, and exchange a few words with Tevinter's Imperial Archon.

She was all too aware of the thousand pairs of eyes that bore into her as the doors closed.

Which was fair, considering that they had quite a bit to look at between her pointy ears and her missing arm. Nonetheless, she kept her head high and walked forward. She was not here to appease to these Tevinter nobles, after all. Her goal was to negotiate with Archon Radonis, and strike an accord with him.

_‘But you must remember,’ _ A voice that was eerily similar to Josephine’s echoed within her thoughts. _‘There is nothing more important than a first impression. Present yourself with confidence, as one perceived insecurity could be as deadly as a blade while playing the Game.’ _

Lavellan never realized how important the Ambassador’s words were until the situation with Empress Celene at Halamshiral. The Game and the competition for influence shocked the Dalish elf; prior to that, she would have never imagined the Orlesian Court to be so duplicitous. And even then, if what Dorian said is true, it is not half as turbulent as trying to navigate through Tevinter.

She navigated around the ballroom, keeping in mind to focus on her surroundings. A wave of anxiety flooded through her as she walked, and she didn’t quite understand why. Perhaps it is because in Halamshiral, she saw more friendly faces in comparison to now. Back then, she had her troops, her advisors, and her friends helping her manipulate the complex system called Orlesian politics.

Now she only has Dorian. And the man was no where in sight.

Lovely. Just lovely.

Lavellan barely managed to suppress a groan of frustration. She was starting to remember why she hated these fancy get-togethers. The sooner she finds both Dorian and the Archon, the better she can ditch these stupid heels and get on with her life.

How Vivienne managed to wear these damned things on the battlefield is beyond her.

A cool hand startled her out of her thoughts. Instinctively, she reached for the nonexistent weapon at her side. Her hand fumbled awkwardly, and now she has no choice but to turn around. She was now face-to-face with someone familiar. Tan skin, handlebar mustache, goatee, wicked grin…

Lavellan smiled. A friend, not a foe.

“Dorian.” Relief flooded her upon seeing him. She held the Magister in a firm embrace, pleased to see him alive and well in such a tumultuous place.

“Good! You’re here. You can’t imagine how wonderful it is to see someone who doesn’t want to kill you.” Dorian smiled.

“Sounds like they are a difficult lot to manage.”

“They are. Fortunately for you, the Altus already like you for destroying the Venatori. Still, watch your back. I can guarantee there are people here who’d want to enslave you just because you’re an elf. Or worse.”

“If they want me dead, they’ll have to stand at the back of a very long line.”

“Undoubtably yes. Let’s not forget that Cassandra is probably the first person on that line.”

“She’s upset with me?”

“I’m not surprised. You’ve went into hiding for half a year, after all. You do owe her an explanation.”

The only response Lavellan had was silence. Dorian was right, after all. The former Inquisitor did cut ties with almost everyone in the Inner Circle save for Dorian, and the only reason she remained in contact with him was because of that magical orb he gave her. 

Thankfully, Lavellan did not need to respond as a servant approached Dorian. She observed as they speak in hushed whispers, with the magister asking questions for clarification and the servant either nodding of shaking his head to accentuate the points. After a few short moments, the servant bowed and goes on his own way.

“I just received the message that Archon Radonis would like to introduce you to the Court before commencing with the negotiations. Follow me this way, if you would.”

Dorian then led Lavellan to the opposite end of the Ballroom. He gave a brief nod of the head to the Master of Ceremonies, and the two approached the edge of the staircase that gave way to the dance floor. Other nobles began to whisper as the attention focused more on the pair. A small ounce of worry Started to plague the Inquisitor: what if her presence is harming Dorian’s reputation?

However, Dorian did not seem to care about the general opinion of the Tevinter nobility. That was the only conclusion Lavellan could reach when the man extended his arm with that playful smirk of his. “Mind if I escort you across the floor, my lady?”

“You, a Magister, escorting me, a Dalish elf? Are you trying to cause an uproar?”

“Oh, don’t put it like that! Dalish or not, as long as you have magical prowess, you are destined for greatness in the Magisterium. The only ones who might have a problem with us dancing together are some of those stuffy nobles who’ve been alive since the First Blight, and I’m deliberately attempting to get under their skin.”

Lavellan could not help but make an undignified snort at the response. Nonetheless, she entertained the man beside her by looping her arm around his.

“I’d love to see the look on Amladaris’s face right now.” Dorian said in a low whisper. “The old man’s probably shitting bricks.”

“What a lovely image.” Lavellan sarcastically remarked. “Thanks to you I’m going to imagine every noble in this room having excretory problems.”

“Keep thinking about that. It makes them less intimidating.” 

“And now presenting:” The Master of Ceremonies announced to the ballroom, ending the two’s trivial banter. “Lord Magister Dorian of House Pavus, Member of the Circle of Vyrantium, son of the late Lord Magister Halward Pavus of Asariel.”

At those words, Dorian proudly walked down the staircase before them and onto the dance floor, giving the audience a somewhat dramatic bow before the Master of Ceremonies continues speaking.

“And accompanying him this evening is Lady Inquisitor Atheva Lavellan, Herald of Andraste, Vanquisher of the Venatori, and Slayer of Corypheus.”

That was her cue. Lavellan held up her dress so that she can walk down the flight of stairs. Thankfully, Dorian extended a hand as she moves in order to avoid a possible mishap. She whispered a quick thank you to whichever of the Evanuris watches over distressed women in heels before turning to address the magister beside her.

“Shall we?” She offered her arm once more.

Dorian smiled. “We shall.”

The two proceeded to walk across the dance floor and present themselves to the Archon. A Dalish elf and a Tevinter Altus, arms wrapped together and walking side by side. It surely was an odd thing to see, or at least in the eyes to the Tevinter Court. They had questions, and Lavellan was able to hear some of them.

_“So it is true? The Inquisitor is an elf?” _

_“I thought Magister Pavus preferred the company of men? Are they together?” _

_“What in the Maker happened to her arm?” _

Judging by the way Dorian was gripping her arm, she guess he could hear them too. She suppose his care-free demeanor was a façade after all. Even Dorian was worried about what will happen tonight.

They were at the end of their walk when Dorian tugged lightly on her arm, cuing Lavellan to pause. She noticed him looking up, and followed his line of sight to see a middle-aged man cloaked in beautiful silk robes smiling down at them from a platform. A staff rested in his left hand, and a tome of some kind in his right.

Lavellan didn’t have to guess who he could possibly be.

“Magister Pavus! Inquisitor Lavellan! What an honor it is for both of you to grace us with your presence tonight.” Archon Radonis beamed.

“The pleasure is ours, Your Excellency.” Dorian says as he bowed alongside Lavellan.

The Archon quickly focused on Lavellan. “Lord Pavus has told me quite a bit you, my dear. We’ve worked together in the past, but I am glad that we have the opportunity to meet. How do you find Minrathous?”

Why not say the exact same thing she said in Halamshiral? “I have no words that would suffice. Minrathous has numerous beauties, and I would not be able to do them justice.”

“As modest as ever, my lady.” His eyes darken with an emotion Lavellan is unable to decipher. The Magister remains silent for a few moments before replying. “Perhaps we shall continue this conversation later. In the meantime, do enjoy the pleasures the balls has to offer.”

It takes all her energy to suppress a smile. It’s best not to look too eager. “Of course, Your Excellency.”

Radonis beckons her to his location before disappearing from sight. Dorian untangled his arm from hers, and she looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m afraid I can’t join you.” He said solemnly. “I have other… diplomatic issues to attend to. I’m afraid I must bid you adieu for now.”

“Oh. I see.”

The disappointment must have been clearly expressed on her face, because Dorian frowned and spoke in a softer tone. “Don’t look so sad. I promise I’ll see you again soon. Don’t worry about me. Focus on what you’re going to say to the Archon.” 

The man paused for a moment, before calling back over his shoulder.

“Oh, and Atheva?”

“Yes, Dorian?”

“Try not to kill anyone. You have a penchant of burning people to death wherever you go.”

Lavallan smiled. “No promises.”

o~o

Lavallan was one minute away from frying some nobles.

It would be poor on her part if she lit someone’s wig on fire, but right now she really did not care. These nobles were beginning to get on her nerves. One would think mingling with the upper class would be a task Lavallan was accustomed to by now, but she despised having to shake hands and socialise with these pretentious people. It was a tiring job, and it felt as if she was walking through a field of fire mines.

The only person that restrained her is Dorian. Every thing she did is a reflection of him as his guest, but it was becoming harder control herself. Her anger is causing her magic to churn in her veins like a violent tempest. Her fingers were beginning to throb, and heat danced across their tips.

All she had to do is lift up her hand and…

“Inquisitor?” 

_ Shit. _

The elven woman who addressed her frowned for a moment. “Are you alright, Lady Lavellan? You look pale. Should I send for a healer?” 

“No need.” Lavellan said once she found her voice. “I was… momentarily overwhelmed."

“Quite understandable. Events such as these can be quite tiresome, even for experienced individuals like yourself. Fortunately, you need not suffer anymore, for His Excellency asks for your presence in order to begin negotiations. Please follow me and stay close, it is quite the walk.”

Lavallan decided to take this moment to study the servant who came for her. She had shocking white hair, most likely due to her genetics or dye because the woman did not seem a day over thirty. She was clad in black garments similar to what all the other Altus were wearing, yet Lavallan found it odd for reasons unknown to her.

So naturally, Lavallan tried to pry information out of her.

“I was unaware that there are elven Magisters in Tevinter.”

That got a laugh from the other woman. “If you’re referring to me, then I must disappoint you. I’m not a Magister, and frankly, I don’t think there would ever be such a thing.”

“Why is that?”

“Hypothetically speaking? On one hand, they would be condemned as political whores among the Servus and the Liberati, especially among the elves. On the other, they would be seen seen as inferior among the Altus and some of the Lætans. Almost all of the social classes would hate them for some reason or another, and because of that they would have a difficult time receive support and funding. In the end, I would not be surprised if they were assassinated either by someone who works for the Magisterium or the Freeblades.”

Thank Mythal Lavellan decided to read up on Tevene politics and the various social classes before hand. According to what she remembered, the Altus are mages who are believed to be the direct descendents of the magisters who were able to speak to the Old Gods. One thing of note was that Corypheus, who was once known as Sethius Amladaris, was one of the High Priests of the Old Gods. He may have been one of the Altus’s ancestors.

Right beneath the Altus are the Lætans, who were mages born into families with no prior history of magical talent. It also assumed that the Lætans, unlike the Altus, do not have the blood of the old magisters. That does not mean that Lætans are unable to gain any political power; one third of the Archons throughout Tevene history were of the Lætan social class.

Most commoners who have no magical abilities are called the Soporati. Most of the Soporati are human, and they are allowed to purchase property, start businesses, and serve in the military, but they are not allowed to have certain ranks in the Imperial Chantry.

The Servus are those who were sold into slavery. The vast majority of slaves are elvhen or human, but Qunari are not unheard of. The Servus are not considered Tevene citizens, but they can be freed by a judge in the presence of their owner or by their owner’s will upon death.

The Servus who managed to achieve freedom are placed into another social class called the Liberati. They are granted very few rights, but they are able to join a Circle of Magi, or take an apprenticeship in a trade. They are even able to buy and sell property, but they cannot join the military or Tevene government.

Her explanation, despite how clear it was, still raised a question.

“Who are the Freeblades?” Lavellan asked.

“They are an extremist group of Liberati and Servus who use violent methods to achieve their goals of equality in Tevinter. They are responsible for the various Servus rebellions that take place here, but they work from the shadows. It is said that they are a group of cutthroat assassins and maleficarum.”

_Maleficarum._ Mages who use the darkest and most forbidden magics, like Blood Magic.

“I see.” Lavellan was quiet for a moment. Something about this woman made hair stood up on the back of her neck.

It was only when Lavallan directed her gaze downward when she saw it. A glimpse of a small portion of leather wrapped around her upper thigh. And Lavallan was not stupid, she knew a knife holster when she saw one.

“What about you, then?” Lavellan asked.

The woman gave her a look at the question. “What about me interests you, Inquisitor?”

“You are an elf, yet you are not like the others I’ve seen. The same could be said for me, but everyone knows who I am.”

She raised a slim eyebrow at Lavellan. “What are you suggesting?”

“You can pretend as much as you want, but don’t think for a second that I did not notice the dagger attached to your leg underneath your dress.”

A silent pause passed between both of them. Then, much to Lavallan surprise and slight aggravation, the woman smiled. “Your observational skills are sharp, my lady. No need to worry. I am not a Freeblade. I am Lord Randonis’s servant. Nothing less, and nothing more.”

That answer did not soothe Lavallan at all, but she could not think of a response. 

A few minutes of silence led them to a smaller wing of the palace. It was a dimly lit section with hardly and prying eyes and eavesdroppers. The area could easily be overlooked in comparison to the other more extravagantly decorated sections, so Lavallan could understand why the Archon would choose this place to talk.

A few turns and a wooden door led to a small room. In a chair sat none other than the Archon, sipping a glass of wine while looking out the window, lost in thought and seemingly oblivious to the two who entered. In Lavallan’s mind, he was the picture of serene.

The moment was broken when the assassin spoke. “Your Excellency.” She bowed, and Lavallan copied the gestured.

“Relina, my dear.” The man greeted. “Please tell me you taken care of the rest of our uninvited guests?”

“Most of them were dealt with. They were few, but they were clever. What I thought I should note is that one of our uninvited guests carried a hit list with the names of a few key Magisters, including yourself.”

“Interesting. I trust the Lady Inquisitor’s name was not on the list?”

“No, my lord.”

“I see. Please leave the letter here and tend to those loose ends.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

With another, bow, the assassin—Relina—left. For some odd reason, Lavallan started to feel nervous as the Archon took the parchment into his own hands and read the names off the list. After about a minute of stewing in silence and apprehension, the man rested the sheet of paper down and began to speak.

“Lady Lavallan. As you are well aware, I invited you here because we have plenty to discuss. What we discuss, however, depends on where your allegiances lie.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“When Magister Pavus asked me to extend an invite to you, he painted you as the perfect person the Magisterium is looking for to put an end to these so called Agents of Fen’Harel. And yet, my other sources tell me that you are the paramour of their leader. It create quite the paradoxical image, you see, and I can not take a risk and place my trust in someone who is on the fence. That’s why I need you to answer the question, Lady Lavallan. Where do your allegiances lie?”

It was a heavy question. They were both well aware of the hidden weight those few words carried. Lavallan needed several moments to figure out how best to answer, and thankfully Radonis seemed content to give her the time she needed.

“I will not lie to you, Your Excellency,” She began, after careful consideration. “I did have relations with their leader a few years ago. But he was not the man he said he was at that time. He betrayed my trust, he abandoned me, and he is the reason why my left arm is missing. If I knew then what I know now, I would have never formed a relationship with him.”

Lavallan wondered how much of what she said is true. Even in hindsight, she still think of Solas in sorrowful fondness. Even through all the literal and metaphorical pain he caused her, Lavallan knew that a part of her still loves him.

Archon Radonis noticed her face flickering through an entire spectrum of emotions, but he did not comment. “This is merely revenge for you then.” He finally said at length.

“Partly,” She would be lying if she said she didn’t want some form of retribution. “But this is bigger than me. My pride is not the only thing at stake. If not stopped, Fen’Harel will destroy the entire world. Or, at the very least, Tevinter.”

Time for a ballsy move. Lavallan took the parchment from where Relina left it on the desk, and held it high enough for the Archon to read the names off of it.

"Assassinating all the Magisters and the important members of Tevene society would create a power vacuum, no? And a power vacuum is the perfect way to cause anarchy in a nation. Without the powerful few subjugating the oppressed many, all it takes is a few rebels like the Agents of Fen’Harel to turn this country on its head. And let me tell you, Fen’Harel can’t stand the fact that slavery still exists in Tevinter.”

Radonis frowned at the last statement. “Such blatant disrespect can get one killed here, Lady Inquisitor.”

“Perhaps,” She agreed. “But we all know that you would not order my execution.”

The look Radonis gave her was nothing short of resigned irritation. “Unfortunately, you’re right.” He softly admitted with a sigh. “You are my last hope. My hands and the Altus hands are tied in this matter. If any of us attempted to make any public moves against the Agents of Fen’Harel, the Servus would take up arms and cause another insurrection. It would only be a matter of time before a civil war erupts.”

“And this is where I come in.” Lavallan said. “I would be an independent party that is not openly afflicted with any political group in Tevinter, and I would serve as your hidden hand against the Agents of Fen’Harel.”

Radonis gave a nod of approval. “I’m giving you full reign to do what you need to do in order to eliminate the threat. Recruit whoever you must whenever you must. In turn, I only ask two things of you. Firstly, be very careful when navigating the social spheres here. You walk a very thin line, and you cannot afford to become enemies with the Altus or the Servus. It would endanger you.”

“I’ve gathered that. And the second?”

“I insist that Relina accompanies you during you endeavours. It is important that I keep tabs on your progress, so I can assure my fellow magisters I am not letting you run amok in our country. I will use her as a way of relaying information to you. You need not worry, she is one of my most trustworthy agents. Is that understood?”

Those were not bad conditions to agree to. In fact, Lavallan was starting to believe that Radonis was one of the more reasonable nobles she have dealt with. A pity they have not work together much in the past.

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“Very good. Monday morn, I will send Relina with some documents for you to read and sign on as a follow up to what we discussed. And in a weeks time, you will set sail for your new headquarters.”

“Set sail? Where will I be operating?”

The Archon then stood and walked to the wall behind him. On it, a map of Tevinter covered most of its surface.

“In Neromanian.” He said while gesturing to the map. “A small, abandoned, yet fortified stronghold right on the coastline of the Nocen Sea. It comes with a harbour so you can receive supplies and any other necessities you might need. You will also be fairly close to Vyrantium, a merchant city that specialises in blacksmithing and armoury, and Carastes, a town that can supply food and other bare necessities.”

“It is also not that far from the Silent Plains.” Lavallan mused while pointing to the area on the map. “Arlathan Forest is some distance away, but I believe it can be reached within a few days journey.”

Radonis raised a slim eyebrow in question. “Those areas are of significance?” 

“To anyone of Dalish origin. I suspect these are areas Fen’Harel will also take interest in. I plan to investigate them first before he does.”

“Be cautious when you do. Old and forgotten magic bleeds into those areas. Red lyrium as well. I’ve sent men there before, and hardly any of them made it out alive.”

“Then perhaps those areas are not as abandoned as you thought.” Either Solas is already operating in those areas, or they are under the watch of Sentinel elves like the ones in the Temple of Mythal. 

“In any case, the sooner you start your search, the better our chances of subduing Fen’Harel. I will not keep you any longer, seeing as there are many others at the ball who desire the intention of the accomplished Inquisitor.” Randonis could not help but smirk at the small frown that overcame Lavallan’s face.

“I suppose that is the price of fame.” Lavallan quipped. “I trust I shall hear from you relatively soon.”

“Of course. Until then I wish you well, and good luck.”


	3. The Wolf's Dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn the extent of the Wolf's dilemma.

None of this should have happened.

During his quest to restore his world, he had been careless. In his arrogance, he vastly underestimated what today’s Thedas was capable of. All he has done was making a series of mistakes: Giving his orb to Corypheus. Letting the anchor splinter and imbed itself into Lavallan’s hand. Falling in love with the Inquisitor and lying to her, knowing fully that he was the cause of all her troubles.

Contrary to how the Dalish paint him as Fen’Harel, Solas was not a heartless man. He has done things he was not proud of; things that left guilt and sorrow that festered in his heart for many years. The time he spent with the Inquisition made him painfully aware of the extent his actions had on everything and everyone around him. Knowing that using his orb on the Veil would kill people was one thing. Breathing in the metallic smell of blood and burning corpses, and actually witnessing innocent people being taken by demons was an entirely different experience.

In spite of this, Solas had no choice but to move forward. He had to walk the _Din’anshiral _ to restore his people. His journey was one where he stepped on corpses instead of cobblestones, in hope that what lied at the end of the road was retribution for the misdeeds he has done.

Since his last encounter with Lavallan in the Elven Ruins during the Exalted Council, he had decided to distance himself from Thedas and its people. He established a base of operations deep within Arlathan Forest, ensuring it was inaccessible without the aid of the Eluvian Network he now controlled. Far from the prying of society, he spent his time strategising how to destroy the Veil and secretly gathering the support of the local elves. The latter was the easier of the two tasks; whispers of emancipation from slavery and building a nation where elves are not second class citizens made it all to easy to garner help.

It was the former that was the crux of the problem. The destruction of the orb has caused an unprecedented set back in his plans, and now he was grasping at straws to find an alternative solution. He spent longs nights pouring over tomes and consulting spirits, but he had nothing to show for it. As much as he hoped otherwise, there was no existing magical artefact left in Thedas powerful enough to tear down the Veil.  
In other words, he was in quite the predicament.

A knock roused him from his thoughts. It was rare for him to be disturbed this early in the morning. He straightened in his chair and looked at the door. 

“Enter.” He commanded.

It was Abelas who entered the study. He and the other Sentinel Elves joined Solas’s cause, and they were the few he fully entrusted with the details of his grand plan. Like him, the Sentinels despised seeing what their people has been reduced to. Like him, they too want to restore the Elvhen to their former glory.

_“Ma’tarlen." _ Abelas bowed. _(My lord.)_

“Abelas.” Solas greeted. “How goes the progress on the Eluvians?”

“The best of our mages are still trying to grasp the reparation process you showed them, but they are well on their way. Most of the Eluvians in Tevinter are repaired. Once those are finished, they will turn their attention to the others outside the nation.”

“Excellent. And have we received word from Minrathous?”

“That is the reason why I came. As we expected, the Grand Ball held at the Circle of Magi was merely a disguise for several political manoeuvres and assassinations. Archon Radonis is allocating more resources to his efforts to stop us, and has even employed… a specialist. I would only presume he rationalised it would be best to bring in the one person who has seen the face of Fen’Harel himself.”

Something akin to dread overtook Solas as he gleaned the meaning of his lieutenant’s words. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he and Atheva meet as enemies. It pained him to even think of her, to think of how he betrayed the trust of such a marvellous woman with an open-minded curiosity for the fade. To think of how her emerald eyes glistened with sadness when she understood that the one she once called _ vhenan _ was responsible for such destruction and—

Solas had to stop himself. Now was not the time for self-loathing. “Do we know details pertaining to their agreement?” He asked.

“Unfortunately not. The spy we assigned to eavesdropping into their conversation was slain.”

“Slain? The Magisterium was aware of our presence?”

“The Magisterium expected the Freeblades. Perhaps Tevinter are still unaware that we are collaborating with them, but their sloppiness is starting to endanger our own work. At this point, the Freeblades are becoming more of a hinderance than an asset.”

It took an immense amount of self-control on Solas’s part not to sigh in annoyance. Abelas continued to reintroduce this topic to their conversations in the hopes Solas would change his mind.

“The Freeblades have their purpose. I do not intend to cast them aside before that purpose is fulfilled.” Solas said in a tone that left no room for argument. “That being said, we must tell both our people and theirs to be more wary of their actions and their surroundings. If there are individuals out there who can identify us from the common man so quickly, then it would be prudent for us to momentarily halt our activities in the public eye. Perhaps we can use this as an opportunity to focus our attention elsewhere.”

“What is it you have in mind?” Abelas asked.

“Simply observe the Inquisitor and her movements for now. We need to know who else will be working with her to oppose us.”

“You don’t believe she will use her contacts from her time in the Inquisition?”

“Lavallan is not so foolish, Abelas.” Solas mused. “I am sure the Exalted Council made her realise how much my agents corrupted her ranks. And let us not forget I was once a part of her Inner Circle, and was privy to private and sensitive information. She has to gain new resources and make new contacts for her to stop us. I will search the Fade for her myself; ensure that our agents are ready to move at daybreak once I have her location.”

“Understood, my lord. Are there any other tasks you need to be done?”

“That is all for now.” Solas said. “Just leave me be to do my work in peace.”

“As you wish.” Abelas bowed once more before leaving the Dread Wolf alone with his thoughts.

Solas sighed as he looked at the books and notes that surrounded him. He knew no more work was going to be done at this late hour, and the lure of his bed was getting far too great for him to resist. He got up from the desk and extinguished the candles in the room with a flick of his wrist, before going to lay down on a nearby bed. 

He closed his eyes and kept his mind clear. And within minutes, he felt the familiar and warm sensation as the Fade welcomed him with open arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all the Elvhen words in this fic, I most referred to Project Elvhen, the Elvhen DAI Translator and the wikia. That is probably the awesomest resource available to understand the Elvhen language and its usage in Dragon Age. 
> 
> Also, from now on, I will define all the words and key phrases that were pulled from those two sources.
> 
> Words of note in this chapter:
> 
> Din'anshiral: A journey of death / The Final Journey
> 
> Ma’tarlen: My lord.
> 
> Vhenan: (Literary) Heart. A term of endearment for a loved one.


End file.
